


Dripping Like a Saturated Sunrise

by Good0mens



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gratuitous Smut, Healing, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, M/M, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Loves Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Needs a Hug, Post-Movie: The Old Guard (2020), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26850778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Good0mens/pseuds/Good0mens
Summary: "Numbness lingers in the wake of their buried grief. They’re performing all the motions of healing, but Nicky is still hungry for justice in a way that’s more of an itch than a stomach-ache, like if he could just drag his nails deep enough into his skin, into Joe’s skin, he could satisfy it."In which Nicky is not handling Booker's betrayal as well as he'd like.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 29
Kudos: 266





	Dripping Like a Saturated Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, another purely indulgent Nicky fic!

Numbness lingers in the wake of their buried grief. They’re performing all the motions of healing, but Nicky is still hungry for justice in a way that’s more of an itch than a stomach-ache, like if he could just drag his nails deep enough into his skin, into Joe’s skin, he could satisfy it.

Malta in the summer has always been as beautiful as it has been smothering. Joe and Nicky spend the first few days cleaning out the house, both grateful to have something they can change for the better. Nicky scrubs at a cast iron pan until his fingers are tender and angry. He holds his breath when Joe kisses the tips of them, only lets it out once Joe has left the room. He doesn’t like how uneven the sound is.

He fucks Joe hard over the kitchen table one night, and he’s rough and careless in a way that he doesn’t recognise in himself. Nicky’s chest heaves, closes his eyes as he feels the pulse of Joe’s heartbeat around his throbbing cock. Joe is a beautiful muddle under him, soft and earthy, moulded under the strong alabaster of Nicky’s body.

Joe arches his back into each thrust, asks for _more,_ like he’s soothing himself as much as Nicky by taking his weight and his harsh touch, and Nicky feels absurdly irritated by it.

He’s got Joe bent over the hard surface, his legs knocked haphazardly apart, rocking on the balls of his feet to get a good angle. He’s deep enough that his groin presses against Yusuf’s hot skin every press inside, but he’s barely registering anything past the furious need in his bones to bury himself inside Joe, again and again and again.

Nicky fucks him like he’s trying to convince himself that Joe’s not broken, that he can take it. Enveloped in Joe’s heat, there's sweat sliding off each other’s skin, the only point of contact between them Nicky’s cock as it fucks in and out of Joe, and Nicky’s palm laid flat on Joe’s back, long fingers raking along Joe’s flesh.

It’s fevered and reckless, and there’s a pounding pulse in Nicky’s temple that sounds like _I love you, I need you, I miss you_ , but it keeps turning into _can you take this, can you take me, please take this, please say you can take me-_

Joe says his name too many times, a string of _Nicky, Nico, Nicolo,_ but Nicky doesn’t want to be himself right now, so he clamps his hand over Joe’s mouth and swears when Joe bites hard enough for it to bleed as they come together.

The satisfaction is empty and brief, and he hates that he let his anger into something that should only be for their love. 

-

There’s a wound festering in Nicolo’s breastbone, settling there. It moves up into the hollow of his neck, rests between the dip of his knuckles, or the arch of his foot. It’s a jagged line, and he loathes the guilt ridden contours of it – _what the fuck do they have to be sorry for?_

The ricochet of violence from the Booker ordeal still snaps at their heels, and every day they lose their temper with each other in a way that that feels less like fighting and more like struggling, like a writhing worm flooded out of the soil in a downpour of sorrow. They’re trying to shrug it off, but the heat is cloying and stifling, and Nicky feels claustrophobic in his own body.

Nicky studies the cracks in Joe’s composure – he grips the knife handle a little too tight when he slices tomatoes in their kitchen; he spends too long staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, like he’s trying to recognise someone he hasn’t seen in a while; and now, he pinches the soft part of his thumb, smudged with charcoal, absentmindedly while he sits on the couch, Nicky laying on the floor.

Sometimes Nicky thinks the world will end before they do; that the stars will crumble and fall from the sky, smash apart on the hard Earth and Joe and Nicky will watch, hand in calloused hand.

Joe’s footsteps are heavy on Nicolo’s beating heart, and it thuds in his ears until he can’t tell the difference. Nicky opens his eyes to meet the bright ceiling light. He squints and turns to watch the silhouette of Joe’s back retreating into the bedroom. Nicky holds in another breath and closes his eyes again.

Sometimes Nicky thinks death will come as a sigh of relief between them.

-

He slips into their room to find Joe already in bed, curled around the absent shape of Nicky. He’s not asleep, Nicky can tell. He folds himself against Joe’s body, and whispers the only pleasant thought he’s had in weeks. 

_This is how completely you have me: there is no part of you that I would cringe from, for it is part of me too._

Joe makes a soft noise, eyes shining.

Their love becomes strength, becomes a brave face, becomes a shoulder for the other to lean upon. And as the night shivers into another beginning, they fall into a yearning slumber, curved into each other like broken pottery pieced together with gold.

-

“Oh, _oh_ yes, there, there!” Nicky groans.

Yusuf is below him, in him, all around him, letting out these little grunts every time Nicolo drops down. The air is yawning and stagnant with heat, humidity trickling into their bedroom. It’s early enough, before sunrise, that their room is still awash in blue dark hues. His thighs are red, beard burn slowly fading away but still vivid and raw against his pale skin, and slippery with sweat and all the lube Joe had used to prepare him.

It’s dripping down onto Joe’s pelvis, gathering into the deep lines of his Adonis belt, smearing as Nicky clenches his thighs and rocks his hips in his lap. Joe’s cock is pressed right up against his prostate, sending liquid want through his veins every time he moves.

“Fuck, you feel so good, _so big_ ,” Nicky babbles, half out of his mind.

Nicolo leans against Joe, hands supporting himself on that broad chest, pulling a little at the hair on Yusuf’s pecs a little as he lifts himself up and then down again. It’s not enough yet, his touch is still just this side of desperate, and he knows Joe can tell.

“I’ve got you, habibi,” Joe whispers, wetting his lips.

Joe’s hands, still slippery with oil, try and fail to grip Nicolo’s side. He swears a little, brows creasing in concentration, shifting before grabbing at his hip bones so hard they’ll bruise, lifting Nicky up slightly and thrusting up while he pulls Nicolo down onto his cock, and _fuck_ , that’s good-

“Joe, I’m close,” Nicolo gasps when Yusuf repeats the motion.

Joe grins, little damp ringlets bouncing on his forehead as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. His muscles are rippling beneath the skin of his abdomen, and Nicky moves one hand to grip his bicep, letting Joe take more of his weight.

His desire is like burnt sugar on his tongue, almost oppressive heat bearing down onto them, pungent and tangible between them. He drags the fingers of his other hand through the mess on Yusuf’s stomach and wraps it around his cock. He glances down at the pink head, swollen with need, before he catches Joe looking too. Joe’s eyes are swallowing all the warmth of the room with their intensity.

He strokes himself two or three times, never breaking eye contact as the pleasure reaches its ecstatic peak.

“Yes, yes, fuck, Yusuf-”

He tightens his grip at the end of one stroke and then he’s coming with a drawn out moan, painting thick white ropes over Yusuf’s stomach.

Joe groans below him, one hand leaving his hips to settle on Nicky’s nape, sitting upwards to draw Nicolo into a long kiss. He’s panting when he pulls away, tugs on Nicky’s wet bottom lip before drawing Nicky closer in his lap.

Nicky, lazy and warm, the sharp edges of his anger dulled with the feeling of an orgasm, clenches around Yusuf, laughing breathlessly at the way Joe’s whole body shivers from it. It unravels into a groan as Joe starts fucking him harder, getting impatient as he nears the edge.

“Come in me, _amati_ ,” Nicky pants in his lover’s ear, jaw bumping into Joe’s cheek as they move together.

His hands bury themselves in Joe’s long curls, and he nuzzles his nose to the skin behind his ear, breathing in the scent of clean sweat and soap. He nips Joe’s earlobe, rubs his face along his beard, then kisses the delicate skin of his neck. He sucks a bruise into the sensitive skin before biting it, worrying the abused flesh with his teeth.

Joe lets out a wounded noise and clutches Nicky close, pushing up stiffly into him before Nicky feels his insides flood with warmth. Joe melts, collapsing back down onto the bed, bringing Nicolo along with him into an embrace. The quiet dusk air is roaring in his ears without the sounds of their fucking to fill it.

As the haze of release fades from his mind, Nicky finds he can hardly stand the points of contact over his skin, cannot bear the tenderness with which Joe’s fingers caress his body. Not just touching, but _feeling_ every curve and dip and fold he can find. It feels loving, like worship, and Nicky’s body is still trying to remember how to be anything but a weapon.

Nicky rolls off his lover, but before he can get out of the bed to retrieve a washcloth to clean them, Joe is tugging him back in against his side. He lifts one of Nicky’s legs and then reaches down, where Nicky is still sloppy with Joe’s come.

Two fingers are pressed inside, slow enough that Nicky could withdraw if he wanted to. He doesn’t, couldn’t deny his husband anything, instead watches Yusuf watching his face as he pushes inside Nicky’s hole until the tips are brushing his prostate.

“So _easy_ for me, beloved, open and willing,” Joe taunts lightly, and Nicky flushes as something hot and debased shoots through him.

Nicky opens his mouth on a gasp when he moves his finger over that sensitive nub, and Joe parts his lips too while he watches Nicolo in his pleasure, before leaning over to kiss him. Nicky tries to kiss back, but he’s really just panting in Joe’s mouth as he adds another finger and rubs them, Nicky’s thighs twitching every time he pushes against his prostate.

Everything is like molasses; slow and indulgent, as Joe gets hard again, and Nicolo’s breathing comes in shorter and shorter. He’s getting more desperate, canting his hips into Yusuf’s hand, want moving like hot syrup in his veins.

Then Joe pushes him fully onto his back and slips his dick back inside Nicky; it’s an effortless slide, with Nicky slack, almost _gaping_ , and it’s not long before Yusuf is dragging himself back out and pushing in again.

“ _Oh,_ Nicolo,” Joe sighs, almost to himself.

Joe is staring at where they’re joined, looking completely enraptured as his cock slides almost all the way out, then _in_ until Nicky thinks he can feel it all the way in his throat. He’s ruined by the slow pace Joe sets, stomach swooping with every precise thrust.

His back is sticking to the sheets, and when he arches up, the air over his spine causes a delicious frisson of excitement to shudder its way down to his bones, spools itself around his abdomen.

There is a sun inside of his lover – Nicky can see it in his smile, in his eyes, can feel it smouldering when his fingertips graze Nicky’s skin. He can feel the marks they leave long after they have healed. Joe hits that spot inside of him and then he can’t _breathe_ -

There are scorch marks imprinted on Nicky; his hips, his thighs, his soul. Nicky would turn to ashes just to press Yusuf’s bare body against his own, he’d burn up from Joe’s rays just for a taste. Joe is always rising, Nicky always falling.

But he always meets Nicky on the way down.

On a particularly intense plunge, the muscles of Nicolo’s calves clench up, toes curling, face scrunching up – Yusuf is so fucking deep inside, straining to get deeper, and an unrecognisable sound tears itself out of Nicky’s chest when Joe rolls his hips impossibly further. His hands scramble, one hand pushing weakly against Yusuf’s solid body, the other gripping the sheets beside him.

“Joe, _Yusuf,_ Yusuf, I _can’t_ , it’s so much, please-”

Joe has mercy on him, retreats from his onslaught of Nicky’s prostate. His hands massage Nicky’s stomach, where the muscles underneath his belly are trembling with exhaustion from their earlier position and the way his body has coiled into a spring at Yusuf’s severe thrusts.

“Relax, baby,” Joe whispers, though he punctuates this with another raw shove.

Nicolo moans, but lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, forcing himself to release the tension in his body, heart stuttering a little when a blob of come trickles down his cheeks.

Joe smiles, entirely too pleased with himself as he delivers another wave of pleasure through Nicolo’s body. Nicky lets himself be rolled by it, surrendering to the sensations. Joe hauls Nicky’s legs up, one arm hooked around his thigh.

“I could do this forever, my Nicolo, you feel so good on my cock,” Joe groans, his lips kissing every inch of skin that he can reach. Nicky wonders if Joe’s mouth is as hungry as his own.

Yusuf’s pace increases, Nicky letting out little moans every time he hits his prostate, until the room is filled with the sounds of their lovemaking and the filthy squelch of Joe fucking his own come into Nicolo’s body.

Every time Nicolo gets close and tenses his body, Joe slows down, hands flanking his sides or rubbing his thighs until Nicky relaxes again, before continuing. It’s maddening, the slow deep pace, steady enough that Joe can track every one of Nicky’s movements as he nears orgasm each time, and then is denied each time.

“That’s it, Nicolo. Let me take care of you,” Joe whispers.

He’s shifting inside Nicky, cockhead reaching Nicolo’s depths and then pushing in more, to that place that makes Nicky sob. The skin on Nicky’s waist jumps as Joe’s hands pass over it, soothing and hushing his soft cries.

“Let it go for me, darling,” Joe asks again as Nicky’s whole body strains.

Nicky shakes his head even as he does as he’s told, chest heaving in big breaths as he unclenches his thighs. Joe rubs around his bottom, then begins another round of his torturous movements.

 _Inhale, exhale,_ everything is full. Nicky is reduced to the pulsing push pull of Joe’s thrusts, surrendering to the beck and call of that siren song. He feels too much, brimming and swirling and humming, until he’s at the edge and then Joe is dragging him

_down_

_down_

_down_

Sunlight pours into their bedroom, as dawn breaks, as Nicky breaks and breaks and breaks underneath Joe.

Eventually, he doesn’t know how long, it becomes too much, tears spilling down his face from overexertion. He feels like his nerves have been exposed and flayed, his skin is hot but he’s shivering, out of his fucking mind with Yusuf’s gentle cleaving of him.

Joe must be getting desperate too, the muscles of his thighs shaking with the effort of holding back. The next time Nicolo strains, body locking down, Joe snaps his hips in harder instead.

Nicky thinks he dies a little, mouth opening on a soundless shout, every muscle in his body taut and overwrought as he comes again.

“ _Oh,_ I love you, love you, love you,” Yusuf chants, punctuating each one with a hard thrust, following him down into euphoria.

They’re sticky and sweaty and panting, and Nicky can’t help but let out a laugh, endorphins singing, hands still shaking from the adrenaline. Joe isn’t faring much better, a boneless, heavy weight on top of Nicolo. He tugs Joe up gently by his ears and kisses him.

Something connects when his lips touch Joe’s, something reaches out from Nicky and is met with Joe’s outstretched arms. They ignite; not a spark – a spark is a moment, and they are an epoch, a slow burn that spreads through everything, consuming and breathing and singeing.

This life has torn into them in so many ways, but Nicky keeps a part of himself safe with Joe, something that even death cannot take. This is them, searing through time together, colliding and forming again.

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a sneak peak of the next installment of the Roleplay series:
> 
> Yusuf would look ridiculous, surely. Surely of the two of them, Nicky would be the one to– the one to wear something like this. His lithe body, broad shoulders that cut to his narrow hips, muscles firm but not obvious, his soft tummy, would suit the underwear. Joe would adore it, too; even picturing it sends a thrill down his spine, but.
> 
> It’s not why he’s holding these, and he knows it. He’s come a long way since the days where he would even hesitate to ask Nicky for something he wants; Nicky is as much of a man as Joe is, no matter who is fucking who, no matter what they wear or how they love. Their give and take is interchangeable, and often unimportant – he just wants Nicky, in any way he can have him.
> 
> And right now, he wants Nicky to rail him until he’s an incoherent mess of limbs, while he wears these panties.


End file.
